


Oh, Kiss Me

by blacktofade



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Pittsburgh Penguins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 03:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11222310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktofade/pseuds/blacktofade
Summary: The ten kisses of Sid and Geno's relationship.





	Oh, Kiss Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinetreelady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinetreelady/gifts).



> Title from Sixpence None the Richer because how can you write a fic about kissing and not name it after Kiss Me?
> 
> Based on a prompt on Tumblr about kissing, which you can find [HERE](https://knifeshoeoreofight.tumblr.com/post/160932690574/types-of-kisses-prompts). I'll leave it up to y'all to guess which kiss is which.
> 
> This is for [Pinetreelady](http://pinetreelady.tumblr.com/) because she welcomed me into the hockey fandom with open arms and then STABBED ME IN THE BACK because it turns out there are _feelings_ in hockey. Who would’ve thunk. But she lets me text her and message her on multiple platforms at weird times of the day and I’m hoping that soon she’ll just outright adopt me.
> 
> PS: Sorry if my translations are wrong. I tried to double check everything, but I can barely get my shit together in English, let alone other languages. Feel free to correct if the context is wrong.

It’s not like Geno plans it. It’s not as though he wakes up that morning and thinks _today is the day I kiss Sidney Crosby_. He has more important things to worry about, like how the last game of the playoffs is going to go and how the cup is so close he can almost taste it.

It would be folly for him to picture the cup slung under one arm and Sid under the other, not in the way he wants.

But just after eleven-thirty that night, the cup is his, and he would be happier if they were back home for him to skate it around for their fans, but he’ll take it anyway. The buzz of excitement from the team sets his skin alight, sends blood thundering through his veins, and he feels alive. The cup is everything he could ever want, but he feels as though he could take more.

He feels as though he could steal a moment between the bus and the locker room, where the press isn’t bustling around him, blinding him with lights, and the team is scattered, trails of sticky champagne following their routes out of the building. And in that moment, Sid is there, smiling as though his face might crack at any moment, a smile to share with Geno, _for_ Geno.

And Geno takes.

He presses Sid into an alcove of double doors, giving them privacy, despite already being alone, and leans over him, chest heaving as though they’re back on the ice with a breakaway. But it’s just Sid there, and he looks surprised—even Geno is surprised at his own actions—but he doesn’t shove at him or try to slip away. He peers up at Geno, ends of his hair damp with sweat, or water from the shower, or maybe even alcohol, and Geno wants everything. He wants his cup and he wants his captain.

Sid sways into him and Geno doesn’t stop, just leans in and in until he discovers how soft Sid’s mouth is and the way his lips plump against his own.

For a moment, there’s nothing, and the lingering reality overhead threatens to come crashing down around them. But then Sid’s hand comes up to his neck, fingers as sure as they ever are around his stick, and his lips move as he kisses back, and that’s all Geno can focus on.

He kisses and presses Sid harder against the door at his back, wanting everything and wanting exactly what he has. Sid’s fingertips drag along the nape of his neck, tucking under the collar of Geno’s shirt until it’s all he can feel. Sid’s suit is already wrinkled, which means Geno doesn’t have to worry much what they’ll look like after, but he wants his hands on Sid’s skin, wants to trace the lines of happy exhaustion across Sid’s body.

“ _Sid_ ,” he murmurs between one kiss and the next, but he doesn’t know what he wants to say and Sid will never find out because there’s a bang of another door opening not far from where they’re hidden.

There are familiar voices growing closer—Guentzel and perhaps Sheary—and Geno has to drag himself away, half-helped by Sid’s shoving hands.

Geno stares down at him, at the redness of his mouth and the shine of the chain around his neck that’s been disturbed from its usual neatly-tucked-away position. He wants more, but it’s not the time nor place, so he settles for bringing one hand up and gently brushing his thumb along Sid’s chin, knowing the patchy beard will soon be gone.

“Have good summer,” Geno tells him and Sid’s still breathing hard, mouth slightly open.

Sid nods and fumbles with the knot of his tie, attempting to straighten it. Geno could help, but he won’t. Instead, he steps back, bracing himself before turning away from Sid and towards the sound of the voices.

“You go without best assist captain?” he calls out and Jake turns and grins.

“We’ve got a flight to catch,” Jake tells him and Geno knows that song and dance.

They’ll be overloaded with alcohol before the plane even gets off the ground, and there will be laughing and probably singing from team members that should not be singing, and Geno will blend in and Sid will tell them he’s proud of them all.

They’ll have the parade in Pittsburgh, and then they’ll all begin to go their separate ways for summer. Geno knows that, too.

* * *

There’s a car in Sid’s driveway that isn’t his own and he can count on his left hand the number of people who have his gate code. When he parks next to it, there’s no doubt in his mind who it belongs to, the sleek, sporty lines of it glinting in the morning sun.

His stomach flips as he heads for the front door, already knowing there will be someone inside.

The sound of ice dropping into a glass in the kitchen lures him deeper into the house and he moves quietly, pausing in the doorway and leaning his weight against the frame to watch.

Geno has somehow found the biggest glass in Sid’s house that isn’t a vase, and he’s quickly chugging water from it as though trying to avoid a hangover.

“Help yourself,” Sid deadpans and Geno doesn’t startle, but he stops drinking and turns his face towards Sid, a grin breaking out across his wet lips.

“Yes,” he says, “You worst host and not home so I help myself.”

Sid drops his keys to the counter beside the stove along with his phone and wallet.

“You never said you were coming,” Sid points out.

“No?” Geno questions as though it’s just something he casually forgot to mention, as though he makes a habit of flying to Canada to visit Sid’s summer house.

“Why are you here?” Sid asks and he doesn’t mean it to sound as terrible as it does, he’s just curious.

“I come visit,” Geno says. “I’m thinking you’re lonely.”

Sid laughs as he asks, “You were worried I was lonely?”

“Yes, you here with nothing but Lord Stanley to keep you company.”

Sid hasn’t had his day yet, but it’s coming soon.

“Lord Stanley’s not here,” Sid reminds him and Geno nods sagely.

“Yes, then is good I am here.”

It’s a nice gesture but— “Shouldn’t you be with your family?”

“I go to Russia in two weeks,” Geno says. “Now, is with you. Stay in guest room. You not even know I’m here.”

Sid doubts that very much; Geno’s presence is unavoidable and unignorable.

“I think we talk,” Geno continues and Sid blinks, taken off guard.

He swallows thickly and chooses the cowardly option, saying, “About what?”

He knows. He hasn’t forgotten the feeling of Geno hiding him away in the doorway of the arena just to kiss him. He hasn’t forgotten the feeling of Geno’s mouth against his own.

Geno sets the glass down on the counter and takes two very deliberate steps closer.

“I’m think you know,” he says, eyes bright and pinning Sid where he stands.

“You need summer training tips?” Sid tries to joke, but Geno shakes his head, his overwhelmingly large hand slowly rising, just enough for his fingertips to brush Sid’s jawline.

“No, Sid,” he says. “No tips. Already best.”

Sid would laugh politely if his heart weren’t jammed halfway into his throat, if Geno’s thumb wasn’t dragging its way across his skin to his bottom lip.

“We talk about when we win cup,” Geno continues, thumb now tracing Sid’s cupid’s bow.

He couldn’t say anything, even if he wanted to.

“I think maybe if you have choice, you not let me do it.”

Sid doesn’t know what would have happened if they’d had to time to talk about it, if Geno had asked to kiss him instead of just doing it. He thinks he probably would have been too cowardly—would have continued to swallow down anything even remotely resembling feelings.

But he thinks now he has the choice, he has the chance. And he thinks Geno might be waiting.

He swallows and moves slowly, his mind racing, screaming at him that it’s a terrible idea, that nothing can ever be the same, whatever choice he makes. But he has to do something.

It’s with surprisingly steady hands that he knocks Geno’s fingers away from his mouth, but Geno doesn’t look disappointed, he looks anticipatory. He stares down at Sid, waiting to be led, just with any game, with any practice, and he holds back his impatience for once in his life because he lets Sid move in as slowly as he needs to.

Their second kiss is nothing like the first. It’s not hard and fast and buzzing with the adrenaline of victory. Instead, it’s just a soft brushing of lips, dry and chaste, something rather fitting for standing in the middle of Sid’s kitchen in Canada.

He draws back to see Geno’s reaction, but Geno’s eyes are shut, his eyebrows up, his mouth slightly puckered as though he’s waiting for something more. And Sid is happy to give it.

He presses in again, this time getting a hand on Geno’s shoulder, pulling him down so that he doesn’t have to stretch up so far. Geno moves willingly, leaning in so enthusiastically that Sid’s head rolls back as far as it will go, forcing a surprised laugh straight into Geno’s mouth. He shoves Geno lightly, angles their heads better, and goes back for more.

Geno opens against him, welcoming him in and Sid isn’t about to waste the opportunity.

* * *

“ _Geno_ ,” Sid complains, voice muffled. “Geno, you have to go.”

“ _Nyet_ ,” Geno replies, barely intelligible. “Five minutes not hurt.”

But that’s what Geno had said five minutes earlier, and possibly even five minutes before that. Yet, they’re still standing in Sid’s foyer, a suitcase and sports bag at their feet, with Geno’s fingers curled against the back of Sid’s head, pulling him in for yet another kiss.

And the problem is that Sid can’t bring himself to pull away either. He wants every manic kiss from Geno, even the ones that miss his mouth and leave him feeling _damp_. He’s not helping either; he has one hand under the hem of Geno’s shirt, the other tucked into his back pocket where Geno’s passport is pressing marks against his palm.

It’s another reminder that Geno must leave, but Sid doesn’t want to let him go.

“Geno,” Sid tries to reason, knowing he has to convince himself too. “You have a flight to catch.”

“Will catch another,” Geno tells him, already pressing in for another kiss, deeper and heavier than the last, that makes Sid want to drag him back upstairs.

Sid untangles himself from Geno’s body, nudging him backwards, mouth throbbing as he pants lightly.

“Your parents are waiting. You need to go.”

Geno huffs and stares down at him with a grim expression.

“Don’t blame me,” Sid says. “You’re the one who booked the tickets.”

“Booked them before I knew,” Geno gripes and Sid doesn’t buy it.

“You knew what you were doing when you came here.”

Geno, suspiciously, doesn’t argue, but he sighs and stares at Sid imploringly.

“One more kiss,” he bargains and who is Sid to deny him?

He leans up, one hand firmly in the center of Geno’s chest for balance as he presses one last simple kiss to his lips. Of course, in a twist that is entirely expected, Geno attempts to pull him closer, a hand on his waist to draw them flush together.

“Geno,” Sid reminds him, gently pulling away, and Geno grunts.

“тот, кто портит удовольствие[1].”

“You can say whatever you want—English or Russian—but it doesn’t change the fact that you have to leave.”

“I’ll come back,” Geno tells him and Sid huffs, amused.

“Of course you will. The next season will start.”

“No,” Geno insists. “Before that.”

“Okay,” Sid agrees, bending down to grab the sports bag, looping the strap over Geno’s shoulder. “Maybe in Pittsburgh.”

Geno leans in and Sid laughs, nudging him away.

“You had your extra kiss.”

“Terrible captain,” Geno complains, grabbing the handle of his suitcase. “Worst.”

“Sure,” Sid says. “Have a good flight.”

Geno shoots one last look over his shoulder as he leaves and Sid can’t help but smile.

* * *

“Sid,” Geno whispers. “Sid, time to wake.”

It takes a moment for Sid to react, his face buried in his pillow, limbs sprawled out. He grunts as Geno curls closer to him, rolling away to avoid Geno’s touch and dragging the comforter with him. It’s cold outside of their warm cocoon of blankets and Geno regrets annoying Sid.

Sid hates early mornings. Geno does too, but he hates them a little less with Sid beside him. Usually.

“Sid,” Geno repeats, a little louder this time, hands tugging to regain the warmth, which Sid eventually relents with a groan.

Geno tucks himself back under the covers and reaches out for Sid, not trying to annoy him this time. He likes Sid in the mornings when he’s soft and his skin is sleep-warmed. He likes the way Sid hates everything for the first twenty minutes after he wakes, but he likes that Sid still puts up with him.

As it is, Sid rolls onto his back, offering up a whole new expanse of skin as he sighs and settles down as though about to fall back to sleep.

“Sid,” Geno insists, drawing the sound out for a few long seconds.

“No,” Sid eventually grunts, his eyes still shut, mouth drawn down in unhappiness.

Geno leans down to press a kiss to his shoulder, his palm coming up to brush along Sid’s bare stomach. There’s so much for him to touch now, that he’s _allowed_ to touch now. Sid’s vocal about his permissions—mostly when Geno has his head between his legs, giving him exactly what he wants.

“Why?” Sid grunts and Geno brushes his smile against Sid’s throat.

“Because practice.”

He knows Sid won’t argue about going to practice—he loves practice, no matter what he might grumble at six AM—but it’ll still take him a while to get moving.

“I shower,” Geno tells him. “You get up soon.”

He leans in to kiss Sid’s jaw and Sid grunts again, but doesn’t otherwise move. Geno smiles down at him before rolling himself out of bed, making sure to tuck the sheets around Sid to keep him warm.

The shower wakes him up enough to be functional and warms him enough that he can head back into the bedroom with just a towel around his waist.

Sid hasn’t moved much; he’s still sprawled out on his back, but now his mouth is open and he’s snoring. It should be unattractive, but Geno still finds himself sitting on the edge of the mattress, staring down at him fondly.

“Sid,” he says gently, rubbing his chest through the sheets. “Time for shower.”

Sid wakes easier this time, his breathing shifting mid-snore to something softer as he smacks his lips and his eyelids flutter.

“M’awake,” he says nonsensically, as though he’s not still drooling slightly and glassy-eyed.

Geno can’t help it—he leans down over him, even as Sid stretches, just to press a kiss to his slack, unexpecting mouth. Sid lets out a muffled noise and then his lips pucker as he kisses back lazily. They’re some of Geno’s favorite kisses to receive.

He lets a few minutes pass before he pulls away and Sid looks more awake then as he smiles up at him.

“Up, up, lazy,” Geno tells him, breaking the moment and Sid laughs and shoves at him.

“Fuck off,” he complains, but moves to get up anyway.

Geno pats his bare ass as he stands and Sid gives him the finger as he heads to the bathroom without looking back.

* * *

It happens less than two weeks into the playoffs. At game six, they’re tied and going into a tense game seven. Geno feels as ready as he’ll ever be, and Sid encourages the team the best he can, willing to put in extra time for those players that need it, being the best captain, as usual.

Although there’s a lot of stress, theoretically, things should be the best they’ve ever been for them. But they’re not.

Sid hasn’t spent the night in almost a month now. He talks to Geno at practice or during games, but he always seems to slip out of the arena before Geno can attempt to corner him. He won’t even meet Geno’s eye across the locker room.

Geno doesn’t know what he’s done and he can’t even ask Sid to find out how to fix it.

They lose in an embarrassing shutout that leaves Geno angry and upset, and they’re knocked out of the playoffs in round one. And Geno has no one to go home to at the end of the night after a long, awkward flight.

He sheds his suit jacket in the front hallway, his shoes a few feet from that. He hooks his tie over the door handle leading to the kitchen, and grabs the nearest bottle of whiskey. He doesn’t bother with a glass nor ice. He’ll drink straight from the bottle and there’s no need to dilute it.

He collapses onto his couch, throws his feet up onto the coffee table and unscrews the bottle’s lid. The first sip burns, but he feels numb, from both the loss and from not having Sid there. The plays from the night zip through his mind like a movie reel, reminding him of his mistakes, of how he could have done better. But it’s too late now; he can’t change fate.

He drinks until he stops caring, and then he drinks some more.

He wakes to the sensation of someone tugging the bottle from his hand where it’s tucked against his chest like a prized possession. He must still be incredibly drunk because it looks like Sid there before him, face grim as he remains entirely silent. He disappears, maybe to take the empty bottle elsewhere, but when he returns, he has a glass of water in one hand and something in the other.

It turns out to be Tylenol, which Sid passes to him after helping him sit up.

“You’ll regret it if you don’t,” Sid tells him, but Geno’s already full of regret. What’s one more to add to his collection?

But he does as Sid tells him, because it’s Sid, so he swallows the pills and downs the water and lets Sid move his feet around to the couch instead of the table. When he’s sprawled out, Sid takes the glass back, putting it who knows where before grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over Geno. He must already know it would be a lost cause to try to get Geno upstairs.

“Get some rest,” Sid tells him, which is what he’d been doing before Sid showed up, but he nods in agreement. “I’ll see you soon.”

He shuts his eyes, ready to fall back to sleep and pretend the whole nightmare is over.

He exhales slowly and feels the quick brush of lips against the corner of his mouth. It’s not the same, teasing kind of kiss Sid used to give him. It says that he’s sorry, that he has nothing else to give Geno.

Geno wipes it away with the back of his hand, rolls onto his side, and wishes Sid would leave.

* * *

Sid makes it official not long after. Geno knows it’s coming the second Sid finally allows himself to be tracked down, when he lingers in the locker room after an optional skate when Geno is still there. The rest of the guys slowly filter out, but Sid stays there, pretending he’s reorganizing his stall, as though he doesn’t have a million superstitions based solely on how things are arranged.

Geno knows it’s not worth delaying the inevitable. He hasn’t made peace with it yet, but it’s a whole hell of a lot easier to deal with when he has other, heavier failures pressing down on him.

“My house?” Geno says, glancing up to watch Sid fidget with his jersey.

Sid doesn’t raise his head to check to see if Geno’s talking to him, but he says, “Yeah, okay,” all the same.

Geno watches Sid’s car in the rearview mirror as he heads home. He doesn’t use his mirror all that often while driving, but today he does, watching Sid’s solemn face when they stop at a traffic signal, watching the way he cards his fingers through his shower-damp hair when he parks in Geno’s driveway, in the same spot he usually does.

Sid shuts the front door behind them and Geno trails his way to the kitchen, needing something to distract his hands.

He settles for a bottle of water from the fridge, not bothering to offer Sid one because he knows he’ll leave the instant they’re done here.

“You want talk?” Geno asks and Sid keeps his eyes low as he nods.

“We both know this isn’t working,” Sid says as though he’s rehearsed it. “I just think we should stop before we complicate things.”

Geno knows he won’t get a say in the matter. Sid’s already made up his mind.

“Yes, better to ignore,” Geno says sarcastically, but Sid either doesn’t pick up on it, or ignores it.

“I don’t think I’ve left anything here, but if you find anything, you can mail it back.”

It hits Geno like a punch to the stomach as he realizes the truth. Sid’s belongings _have_ been slowly disappearing. The spare shirts are gone from Geno’s drawers upstairs. His shoes are no longer by the front door. The disgusting fruit punch flavored Gatorades that only Sid likes are no longer tucked in the back of his fridge. It feels like his brain has only just caught up, the changes occurring before Geno could even notice.

He stares at Sid silently for a long moment before Sid finally lifts his head to look at him.

“Geno?” he asks, and Geno realizes he’s waiting for a reply.

“Yes,” Geno agrees. “I’m mail things.”

It’s not the truth. He’ll probably throw anything he finds in the trash, and he suspect Sid knows that too. Geno doesn’t take loss well—never has—and Sid knows and has prepared.

“It doesn’t have to be awkward,” Sid continues. “I’d still like to be friends.”

“Sure,” Geno says, another lie, and Sid nods, taking a step back as though ready to leave.

That’s the entirety of their discussion about it and Geno has always imagined there would be more yelling, more thrown objects, but he’s tired now, something bone-deep, and he just wants to let it go.

Sid hesitates and Geno doesn’t know why. He should just leave already. The damage is already done.

But in a typical Sid fashion, of course he has to make it worse. Of course he has to step around the island between them, of course he has to press into Geno’s space and rise up on his toes, and of course he has to kiss Geno in a way that makes Geno’s heart stutter, as though it’s not sure it even wants to continue beating.

Geno shoves him away, not roughly and not to injure, just to say that Sid’s not allowed to do that. He’s not allowed to pretend like he cares after slowly—so slowly that Geno almost never noticed—ripping out a part of Geno that he needs to be whole. It’s not fair.

It’s probably just a goodbye thing for Sid, but for Geno, it’s another handful of hours that he’ll spend wide awake in bed, unable to fall asleep because he’ll be thinking of this moment, hoping that one day he’ll get everything back.

But that’s not how life goes.

Sid apologizes and then leaves without looking back.

* * *

Sid goes home for the summer. Not to his lakefront property, but _home_ home, as in his parents’ house. They stick him in his old room, where the twin bed from his childhood is too short and not wide enough now, and they don’t question why he’s visiting, probably chalking it up to a rough season.

His mom makes meatloaf his first night there, something familiar and comforting, and she presses a gentle hand to his shoulder as she sets the plate in front of him.

“Things will get better,” she tells him and Sid isn’t sure if that’s true, but he nods to make her feel better.

The thing is that the summer isn’t that much different. There’s no parade or press, of course, but Sid still gets regular texts from members of the team, and he still has his hockey school to keep him occupied.

As always, the kids are excited to be there and use their new equipment, and Sid feeds off the enthusiasm, using their happiness to boost his own. They don’t care that he didn’t get further in the playoffs, they’re just excited to be around the one and only Sidney Crosby.

Flower joins them for five days about two weeks into the program, just because that’s the selfless kind of person he is, and the kids are ecstatic. Sid thinks it’s the first week all summer where it takes no effort for him to smile and joke. But the end of the week comes quickly and hugging Flower the last afternoon he’s there feels like letting go of another piece of himself.

“Reste fort et sois heureux, mon ami[2],” Flower tells him before he leaves and Sid’s smiles falters without his permission, but he nods.

“I’ll try. See you next season.”

The following week, the kids are quieter, but on Wednesday, Geno shows up.

To say Sid is shocked is an understatement. He’s halfway through grabbing a couple of spare sticks for the kids when he glances over and spots Geno passing by the doorway. He doesn’t even have enough time to double-take, but he forces himself to continue his take and not outright drop everything to run out and see. He calmly leaves the room, waddling out on his skates towards the rink.

By the time he gets there, Geno is setting his bag on the bench, listening to two of the people from the hockey school’s media team as they chatter at him. Geno doesn’t look happy, but he looks healthy, his face flushed with a tan that’s definitely not from Pittsburgh nor Russia. Dangerously, he wonders where he went and how it could have been if they’d gone together.

He passes the sticks to Lena, who helps part-time with equipment, and veers off to break the ice before things get weird.

“Hey,” he says getting within range, and Geno immediately looks up, distracted from whatever Carl is talking about.

It feels as though his whole world shudders at the glance from Geno, at the way his gaze drops, seeming to automatically check Sid out. Sid smiles, closed-lipped.

“What’s going on?” he says, faking a friendly laugh, as though it’s a happy surprise to have Geno there.

Carl turns to him, face bright with enthusiasm.

“We invited Evgeni to camp for a few days. It’s good publicity and great for the kids.”

Sid knows that’s true, but it’s still painful.

“How long are you in town for?” Sid asks Geno, trying to be the face of professionalism.

“Sunday I go home.”

“To Russia?” Sid asks and Geno nods.

He thinks that’s good. If things go wrong, Geno will be far away after anyway.

“The kids will be excited to see you,” Sid says and Geno nods again before turning to the man to his right—someone Sid doesn’t know—and speaks in sharp Russian sentences.

After a moment of back and forth, Geno turns back to Sid and says, “I go get ready.”

“Sure,” Sid says and he knows he should go help set up the rink for the day ahead, but he finds himself lingering for a few minutes before following Geno’s route to the locker room.

There’s someone else leaving as Sid walks in, but it’s empty apart from Geno, who’s carefully tying his skates, not paying attention.

“Is this because you’re mad at me?” Sid can’t help but ask and Geno’s head lifts.

“I’m not mad, Sid,” Geno tells him and it looks like he’s telling the truth. _Hurt_ is probably the better word for it. “They tell me you said to come. Said you wanted it.”

“No one told me,” Sid says honestly. “I had no idea.”

Geno’s lips purse as he thinks, then he says, “For the kids. Is all I’m here for.”

Sid nods, biting back the sudden, sharp ache it brings because he doesn’t get the luxury of pretending it’s not all his fault to begin with. It’s entirely his fault. He’d panicked in the worst of ways, overthinking all that could have gone wrong with them and destroyed the team from the inside out. He figured it would be easier for them to just stop and separate. But it hurts, and having Geno sitting across the room from him makes it worse. He misses Geno so much.

“The kids are fun,” Sid says, trying to lighten things and Geno nods.

“I’m come out soon. Big surprise.”

Sid smiles, surprisingly not forced, and nods as he carefully turns around and leaves. He can make this work, if only for the kids.

As expected, the kids go nuts for having both Sid _and_ Geno there. They run their drills trying to show off their skills, even as they trip and topple each other. Sid can’t help but laugh, and he’s all too aware of the rich laughter coming from Geno, too. The way Geno jostles the kids, the way he’s hands-on and involved, caring like it’s his own hockey camp.

Sid knows Geno does a lot for children—mostly in Russia—but seeing it first hand is something he’s not prepared for. It’s a softer side of Geno, a less competitive side where he doesn’t have to worry about defending the team. It’s just them and a handful of kids.

Someone tugs at the hem of Sid’s coat and Sid’s still smiling as he looks down to find a young girl, head to toe in gear.

“Sidney,” she says, voice surprisingly strong. “Geno keeps scoring against us.”

“Is that right?” Sid asks and she nods. “What do you think we should do?”

“Take the puck from him,” she suggests and Sid makes a noise as though he’s thinking.

“Do you think that’ll work?” he asks and she nods again.

“Please,” she adds, and Sid was already going to give in, but he definitely is now.

“Let’s go get him,” he says and she leads the charge over to where Geno is hovering by the goal, quickly chasing the puck around five or so yelling children.

Geno doesn’t seem to expect anyone with any skill to zip in and steal the puck, but that’s what Sid does, passing it easily to the girl who sought him out.

She misses the pass, but skates off after it, a trail of other kids following her away as Sid laughs.

“I’m about to score,” Geno complains, no heat behind the words as he skates over to check Sid from the side.

It’s not a hard hit, but it’s enough to remind Sid of the size difference between them, of the lean build to Geno that’s always driven him slightly mad.

Sid lets the hit nudge him away like he’s a curling stone and he goes back to watching the kids pass the puck closer to the goal. Someone will probably score and it won’t be Geno finally. There’s excited yelling when it happens, and the girl from earlier finds Sid, her face split wide with a smile through her mask.

“I scored!” she tells him and he obligingly holds out one gloved hand for her to high-five, which she does excitedly before skating off towards the pack again entirely ignoring Geno.

“Too soft on them,” Geno complains and Sid shakes his head, grinning. “Never make NHL without fight in them.”

“They’re twelve, G,” Sid argues and Geno shakes his head in mock disappointment.

“Had first hockey fight when I’m five,” Geno says and Sid knows it’s a lie—or an exaggerated truth—but Geno skates off before he can respond, following the kids to steal the puck again.

Sid huffs a laugh under his breath and slowly skates away to help another group of kids.

*

Geno’s at the rink early the following day as though it’s just another morning practice back in Pittsburgh. Not that he’s ever been early before. Sid stands quietly to one side, watching him skate tight circles, carefully sliding a puck around. He’s graceful for his size and it’s not the first—nor probably the last—time he’s thought that.

Geno runs a few of his own drills, idly scoring on the open net as he kicks up ice and throws himself around, before looping around and putting his back to Sid. He turns before Sid even has time to blink, shooting straight at him.

The puck comes soaring towards Sid and hits the glass with a bang that echoes around the rink and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He thinks maybe he’s not as stealthy as he thought he’d been, lingering in the shadows.

“You want puck?” Geno asks as Sid smiles awkwardly, embarrassed at being caught. “Go put skates on.”

He doesn’t seem bothered by being watched, but Sid can’t find his voice to answer, so instead, he nods and turns away to head for the locker room.

When Sid returns, waddling on his skates, Geno’s sitting on the bench, gloves off, checking his phone.

“You’re here early,” Sid says and Geno tucks his phone away and shrugs.

“Not sleep well.”

Sid thinks they probably put him up in a nice hotel in Dartmouth, but a bed that’s not your own just isn’t the same. He remembers the times—mostly during their rookie years—when Geno would show up at his hotel door at some ungodly hour, pissing off whoever was bunking with Sid that night. But they would wander the hallways together and sometimes Geno would talk in Russian, complaining, explaining—Sid could never tell—but it would relax them both enough that less than an hour later, they would be back in their respective rooms, sleeping soundly.

Sid would offer up one of the spare rooms of his parents’ house if it wouldn’t be incredibly awkward.

Instead, he says, “The kids went easy on you yesterday.”

Geno grunts and pushes himself up, shuffling towards the ice.

“We play one-on-one,” he says, “and I’m sleep tonight.”

He kicks the puck across to Sid as he steps onto the ice and Sid quickly slides it to the other end of the rink.

“I’ll help you sleep,” Sid promises and Geno grins and takes off after him.

*

Sid gets hit with a puck. They’re kids—kids that have been discouraged from pelting the puck as hard as they can, though that rule is mostly to keep the other kids safe, even with all their gear on. But Sid’s just wearing a baseball cap and it comes from the side as he’s leaning down to help retie a skate.

It hits just above his right brow and staggers him enough that he drops to one knee, bringing a hand up just in case it’s drawn blood—the kids don’t need to see that.

“Sidney?” the kid asks when Sid stops tying their laces and Sid blinks away the pain to speak.

“Go ask Jen to help, okay? I need to go check something.”

He pushes up and begins skating to the rink’s exit, almost startling when someone touches his shoulder because he’d been certain no one else had seen. But strong hands help him off the ice and lead him towards the locker room, where he’s encouraged to sit on the bench and tilt his head back.

“Let’s see,” Geno says and it hurts less when there’s pressure on it, but Sid pulls his hand away to show Geno the damage.

Geno tuts and gently clutches Sid’s chin with one large hand as he moves his head around in inspection.

“You live,” he declares. “No blood. Maybe black eye. I’m get ice.”

Geno lets him go, his fingers trailing along Sid’s jaw in a way that makes him forget the pain, and then he disappears from the room. When he returns, he has an icepack from the onsite medic and he frowns as Sid prods at the swelling that’s quickly forming.

“Don’t touch,” Geno orders before he chides, “Like child.”

Instead of just passing Sid the icepack and letting him handle it himself, he drops to a knee and presses it to Sid’s brow. Sid grunts at the coldness, but Geno cups his face with his free hand and stops him from drawing back.

“Need helmet to protect from dangerous kids,” Geno tells him. “Soft head. Delicate.”

“My head is fine,” Sid complains and Geno nods.

“Yes,” he agrees. “Very fine.”

Sid stares at Geno, wondering if he meant it to sound flirty, and Geno stares at him with his steady, doe eyes. He looks tired, and not like he’s still not sleeping well at whatever hotel he’s at. More like a bone-deep exhaustion. Getting knocked out of the playoffs in the first round would do it. So would being left by Sid because of a change of heart.

It feels familiar to be so close to Geno again, it feels like he could reach out for him and Geno would react just the way he used to. But he can’t now. He doesn’t get that right.

But Geno’s staring in return and his thumb—of the hand cupping Sid’s face—is rubbing distracting circles against the hinge of his jaw. Sid knows those hands, remembers how they felt along his body, how sure they’d always been. They’re sure now.

Sid feels himself slipping and with Geno’s heavy gaze on him, he raises his hand and covers Geno’s own. Geno’s knuckles twitch, but he doesn’t move, apart from his gaze, which drops to Sid’s mouth and then back up again.

“Feel better?” Geno asks and Sid knows he’s talking about his face, but Sid thinks back to his initial dread at having Geno show up for camp and doesn’t feel that anymore.

“Yeah,” he says gently and Geno stays with him.

*

On Friday, there’s a car in his usual spot outside his parents’ house that forces him to park on the street.

“Oh, Sid,” his mom says when he walks into the kitchen. “There you are.”

“Where else would I be?” he asks, setting his baseball cap on the counter and cardings his fingers through his mussed hair.

“Geno worried me when he showed up without you. I know you said he’d been helping with camp.”

“Geno?” Sid asks, glancing around, half expecting Geno to appear through one of the walls.

“He’s out back with your dad,” his mom tells him. “They’re grilling up steaks.”

Well, that explains the rental car, he supposes.

“Steaks?”

“Geno brought them,” his mom says. “They’re the good ones from Sobeys.”

“He’s staying for dinner?” Sid asks and his mom puts her hands on her hips.

“Well, we’re not just going to eat his food, Sid. Go wash up.”

He feels like he’s back in Juniors again, getting home from practice and having to shower before finally eating.

“I’m going to go say hi,” he tells her, because he is in fact a grown adult who can make his own choices, but he softens the blow by passing her and dropping a kiss to her cheek.

She swats at him, muttering something about the sweaty men in her life, and Sid exits through the backdoor onto the deck where his dad and Geno are huddled around a distressingly smokey barbeque.

“Should I get the extinguisher?” he asks as he shuts the door behind himself and his dad and Geno look over with matching frowns.

“Best at barbeque,” Geno tells him, affronted, and his dad just stands his ground with a pair of tongs and an apron with a woman in a bikini painted on the front.

“Sure,” Sid says, the fact that he doesn’t believe him clear in his voice. “Need more beer?”

There are two empty bottles already on the table, but the ones they’re holding appear to be almost full.

“No,” Geno says. “Need peace and quiet instead.”

He makes a shooing motion at Sid with one hand and Sid can take a hint.

“I’m going to wash up,” he says because maybe his mom is right about most things. “If you need me to order takeout, let me know.”

Geno calls him a name in Russian that Sid’s dad probably doesn’t understand, but he nods as though he agrees with the general sentiment anyway.

Sid smiles as he turns away and heads back inside.

It actually feels good to shower away the grime of the day, but unlike his bathroom at home, it’s not en suite, which means when he forgets clean clothes, he has to take a walk of shame down the hallway with a towel around his waist. It wouldn’t be too bad if not for Geno lingering in his room when he nudges open the door.

“I’m wait for bathroom,” Geno says, which Sid doesn’t believe for a second, because there’s a toilet downstairs between the living room and kitchen, which would have been the one his parents guided him to if he’d asked to use it.

He’s standing by a shelf on which stand a few of Sid’s trophies from his childhood.

“Always been good,” Geno says as Sid curls his fingers into his towel to keep it from shifting.

“Always ways to improve,” Sid counters and Geno makes a vague gesture to say that he agrees.

Geno fidgets with a few other childhood knickknacks and Sid wonders why he’s there.

“Bathroom’s free now,” he says, if that’s really what Geno’s looking for, but Geno turns towards him and meets his gaze.

“You happy?” Geno asks and that’s—that’s not what Sid had been expecting.

“H-happy?” Sid stammers in confusion.

“Yes,” Geno continues. “Happy alone, or maybe you not alone now?”

“I’m alone,” Sid blurts, “I mean—romantically—”

It’s awkward to talk about, but Geno persists.

“But happy?”

“I don’t—I mean, I’m okay.”

“Happy?” Geno insists with more force, staring Sid down and Sid feels his hackles rise.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, G,” Sid tells him honestly.

“Say if happy or not. Is not hard.”

But it _is_. It’s hard because he doesn’t know what will happen either way. If he lies and says he’s happy, will Geno leave because he feels he’s not needed? If he says he isn’t happy, will Geno feel obligated to do something? Does he want Geno to leave or stay? Does he want to admit that he fucked up months ago and wants Geno back? Will Geno even let Sid take him back?

“Sid,” Geno presses because apparently he’s taking too long to think about it.

“I don’t know—” Sid says, exasperated and put on the spot and Geno sighs and shakes his head.

“Okay,” he says. “I go then.”

He turns and that’s not what Sid wants at all.

“No,” Sid says, “don’t go.”

“You talk to me then?” Geno asks looking back at him and Sid knows he’s not being given a choice now.

“It’s not a matter of whether I’m happy or not. Life doesn’t depend on my happiness, Geno—it’ll keep going no matter what. I’ll never be happy after a bad season, but we have to focus on next year.”

“And next year you’re still alone?”

“I don’t know,” Sid tells him and Geno tilts his head.

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t make choices for you,” Sid says quietly and Geno stares at him, his expression even.

“Why stop last time?” Geno asks and standing in nothing but a towel, entirely exposed in every way possible, Sid can’t be anything but honest.

“What if we fuck up the team?”

“How?”

“If we have a rough breakup,” Sid explains and Geno shrugs.

“We already have.”

“And we lost in the first round.”

“We lost because team not play best. Not us.”

“What if you start hating me?”

Geno shrugs and says, “I’m professional. Will deal with it.”

“What if I start hating you?”

Geno shakes his head. “Not possible. Never hate me.”

Sid sighs and Geno steps towards him, looming in a way he hasn’t done in a long time now. Sid doesn’t break their stare and Geno reaches out with one hand to tuck a strand of Sid’s unruly, end-of-a-season hair behind his ear.

“You already try hating and it not work.”

“I never came close to hating you,” Sid says with a twist of his mouth.

“See, not possible,” Geno says and sneaking shouldn’t be possible when he’s right there, but he still manages to press closer without Sid realizing.

“Geno,” Sid says, trying to say how much of a bad idea it is to even think about starting things again, but Geno’s hand falls to his bare shoulder, rubbing at his shower-fresh skin.

“Still warm,” he says, meaning from the heat of the water, and Sid thinks he’s going to say something else, but instead he leans down and kisses him.

Sid should push him away and remind him that it’s not going to end well, should push him away because they’re standing in his childhood bedroom with his parents downstairs. But instead, he tilts his head back and welcomes the kiss because he doesn’t have the strength to break it. Not that he thinks he wants to.

Geno makes a soft, happy noise and melts against him, forcing Sid to finally break his grasp from his towel to reach up and clutch Geno’s shirt instead. The towel stays firmly in place thankfully, but Geno’s other hand slips around to Sid’s waist, fingers playing with the cotton edge.

“Hey,” Sid grumbles as he pulls back with Geno looking slightly dazed.

“Sorry,” Geno apologizes, sounding as though he means precisely zero percent of it.

Sid nudges him and Geno catches his elbow in a steady grip and stares down at him, his grin loose and easy. Sid reaches up to touch his face, remembering the angles of it and how it had felt before under his hands and mouth.

“Why would you take me back after what I did?” he can’t help but ask in the silence between them and Geno slides his fingers through Sid’s wet hair, tangling it beyond repair.

“Tell you I’m professional,” he jokes and Sid sighs even as Geno dips down to kiss him again.

It’s a bad choice he’s making.

If Sid’s parents notice that he stumbles out of the house five minutes after Geno with kiss-reddened lips and mussed hair, they politely don’t say anything.

* * *

Sid receives a text that’s just a hotel name and a room number, and he doesn’t have to be a detective to figure out its meaning.

It’s Geno’s last night in the country, but he opens the door only a few beats after Sid knocks, still dressed in his gear from camp.

“Take forever,” Geno complains as he tucks a finger into the neckline of Sid’s shirt and draws him into the room, letting the door slam shut behind them.

“At least I showered,” Sid says, plucking at the front of Geno’s shirt, which is still slightly damp with sweat.

“Only get dirty again,” he tells Sid with a leer and Sid should nudge him away for a terrible joke, but instead he lets Geno pull him closer.

He gets his hands under the hem of Geno’s shirt before Geno even leans down to kiss him, enjoying the shift of his muscles as he bends to reach him. It’s the first time they’ve been totally alone for more than five minutes, so instead of quick, stolen kisses at the back of the locker room, they can take their time. And frustratingly, Geno takes it to heart because he turns them, pinning Sid to the wall beside the bathroom door and deepening the kiss until it’s slow and wet and tugs the breath right out of Sid’s chest.

Geno is insistent, his hands heavy as they come up to rest on Sid’s hips. Geno’s size has always been overwhelming, even more so when he’s in game-time gear, the pads bulking him up. But Sid likes the feeling of leaning up towards him for kisses, the way he has to press up onto his toes if he wants to steal a kiss without Geno’s help. He also likes how solid Geno is against him, heavy and immovable.

“Miss you,” Geno says, breaking away from Sid’s mouth to drag his lips along his jaw and down to his throat.

“I just saw you like forty minutes ago,” Sid reminds him and Geno nips his skin gently.

“Not today,” he explains. “When I go home.”

He means when he’s in Russia.

Sid slides his fingers into Geno’s hair and tugs his head back so he can meet his gaze.

“Training will start soon enough.”

Geno scoffs and says, “Not wait for then. I come back early. Spend time with you.”

Sid feels his whole body flush at the thought of Geno wanting to end his summer at home early, just to be with him. He tries to hide his grin, but Geno must know he’s fighting it because he smiles and touches Sid’s mouth with two fingers.

“Pittsburgh or here?”

“Pittsburgh,” Sid tells him decisively because after a whole summer at the lake, he’ll be ready for a change of scenery, to get back to the bustle of the city.

“Like more than Canada?” Geno jokes and Sid shoves him, enough to send Geno backwards a step even as he laughs. “Not joke about that?”

“I should go home,” Sid says, pretending to turn away, but Geno grips his shoulder and shakes his head as he drags Sid deeper into the room.

“You stay,” Geno says as he pulls Sid into the bedroom, hooking his hands under the hem of Sid’s shirt and drawing it up.

Sid raises his arms to let Geno pull it over his head and it drops to the floor with barely a sound. Geno’s hands roam freely across his chest as he makes a noise of contentment.

“Miss this,” Geno says, voice low as his hands drop lower to the waistband of Sid’s jeans.

Sid’s already half-hard from anticipation alone, but Geno palms him firmly, making his hips buck involuntarily.

“Miss this even more.”

It’s a cheesy line, but Sid isn’t about to knock Geno away, not when he’s tugging at Sid’s belt and unbuttoning his pants. With his jeans splayed open, sitting obscenely low on his hips, Geno slips his hand inside, wrapping nimble fingers around Sid’s cock.

Sid’s breathing stutters in his chest, his hand grasping at Geno’s forearm, and though it’s really only been a few months since Geno last touched him, it feels brighter, sharper than before. Geno keeps it slow and steady and it’s too dry, but Sid wouldn’t change a thing.

“Good?” Geno asks, which is redundant because Sid’s digging his fingernails into Geno’s skin, so he knows exactly how good it is.

Sid shuts his eyes and lets his head tip back, basking in Geno’s touch as he lets his own hands wander around to tug at Geno’s shirt.

“Impatient,” Geno grumbles, pressing a kiss to Sid’s bare shoulder. “Want take time with you.”

Sid sighs and opens his eyes again.

“Geno, you’re leaving tomorrow. If you want to fuck, you need to hurry.”

Geno blinks at him, his hand faltering before he draws away completely.

“Okay,” Geno says. “Wait here.”

Sid doesn’t know where else he’d go, but Geno disappears into the bathroom before he can say anything, rustling around with something, the clattering of plastic following soon after that’s probably the hotel-supplied shampoo and conditioner going every which way.

“Geno?” Sid asks in confusion, but Geno mutters something loudly in Russian and continues doing god knows what.

Though it all makes sense when Geno stumbles back out, entirely naked, something clutched in his right hand that looks suspiciously like the bottle of lube Geno used to keep in his shower kit for whenever they were on the road and wanted to mess around.

“You still have that?” Sid asks and Geno shrugs.

“Not bother to take out yet.”

Sid isn’t about to question it further, because it’s getting between him and having Geno’s fingers inside him. Instead, he stoops to shove his jeans and underwear down his legs to where his shoes are blocking him from taking them off completely. He tugs at the laces enough that they give and then finally he can kick them off and remove the rest of his clothes.

Geno steps closer to cup his ass with both hands as Sid’s still bent over, slowly grinding against him and letting Sid feel where he’s getting hard. Sid leans back into the touch, reaching up with one hand to curl it around the back of Geno’s head. Geno gets the hint and presses a bruising kiss to Sid’s throat, something that will last, something that will stay with Sid long after Geno flies back home.

Sid tries to turn in Geno’s grasp, wanting to kiss him, but Geno holds fast, grip tightening.

“No,” Geno says. “Stay.”

Sid wants to ask what for, but Geno presses a hand between his shoulder blades, bending him at the waist and Sid wonders if Geno is going to fuck him like that. But then Geno drops to his knees behind Sid and Sid’s brain grinds to a halt.

“G,” he says, voice not as steady as he’d like it.

But then it doesn’t matter because Geno’s holding him open with his thumbs and licking over his hole as though he’s been waiting all summer for it. Sid has to lock his knees to keep himself from staggering sideways, and he grips the bed in front of him, bending further and giving Geno the space to reach whatever he wants to reach.

He moans loudly, the noise stark against the silence of the rest of the room, though even above his own heavy breathing he can hear the wet noises of Geno’s mouth taking him apart piece by piece. He’s missed Geno’s mouth and the addicting plushness of his lips. He has fond memories of Geno between his thighs, sucking his cock.

Geno’s a man on a mission as he eats him out, one hand sneaking around to rub where Sid’s fully hard now. He makes a happy noise when he finds how interested Sid is, but Sid has always been weak to the attention Geno gives him, he shouldn’t be surprised.

He grinds against Geno’s hand, regretting it when it draws him away from Geno’s mouth and he gets stuck in between, wanting to push forwards and back to get both sensations. So Geno, as with all things in life, makes it easier for him. He nudges Sid forward a step, enough that he can press his cock to the edge of the mattress while Geno licks against him harder.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sid says with feeling, his toes curling at _everything_ , and he knows without a doubt that Geno is smiling.

Geno uses a thumb to open Sid up as he licks into him, putting pressure exactly where Sid wants it and Sid can’t even breathe, let alone think. He wants it to go on forever, but he also wants Geno inside him.

“Want to fuck me?” Sid grits out through the haze of pleasure and Geno’s mouth relents just enough for him to draw back.

“You know I’m always want that.”

Sid makes up his mind then and there and pulls away from Geno’s gasp to climb onto the bed, settling on his hands and knees before glancing over Geno, who’s slack-jawed, mouth obscenely wet and reddened from use.

“Get up here,” Sid tells him and it seems to take a moment to register, but then Geno’s pushing himself to his feet and sliding onto the bed behind him, the hand not holding the bottle of lube settling on Sid’s hip and tracing down along his thigh.

“ _Sid_ ,” he groans. “So glad you come back.”

Sid has to hide his face in the pillows to keep from saying anything damning, though Geno can probably already see exactly how he feels.

“Make you feel good,” Geno promises, as though he hasn’t already partially melted his brain, but just like that, he’s slicking his fingers and slipping one into where Sid is more than ready for him.

Geno’s always been gentle with him, giving him exactly what he needs, but it comes with a hint of desperation now, like it’s also what Geno needs. But he fingers him until Sid feels half-mad from it and he’s pretty sure he’s slicked up all the way down to his balls because he doesn’t know if Geno thinks he needs more after not having sex for a few months, but he’s _liberal_ with the lube.

“Okay, okay,” Sid groans, when he feels Geno shift as though about to reach for the bottle again. “That’s enough.”

“Sure?” Geno asks, but Sid just nods because he knows his own body and what it can take.

“Hurry up,” he complains, mostly because he’s aching from being so hard with no relief for so long.

“Капитан в постели[3],” Geno grumbles and Sid doesn’t know what that means, but it’s probably a chirp about him being bossy. That’s all it ever is.

But it means that Geno actually does something about it.

“Condom?” Geno asks, though Sid didn’t know that was even an option—he hadn’t seen Geno bring one out of the bathroom.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sid says, because it’s true. It’s not the first time they’ve skipped it and he suspects it won’t be the last.

Apparently Geno’s okay with that plan because he wastes no time in pressing inside, going just as slowly as Sid needs, filling him in a way that he’s missed.

“Good?” Geno asks and Sid hangs his head and nods loosely.

“You know it is, G.”

Geno hums as though he might agree, his hand sliding along Sid’s side in a comforting motion, not that Sid needs it. He just wants to get fucked at this point.

“C’mon,” he hisses and Geno, thankfully, doesn’t need to be told twice.

He fucks like he plays hockey—fast and strangely elegant. Sid hadn’t expected it the first time they hooked up, but now he can’t imagine it being any other way. He clings to the bed, his body taking exactly what Geno has to give and he never wants it to end.

And it doesn’t seem to either. Geno keeps his thrusts steady and powerful as Sid slowly loses track of time. He know he drops to his elbows at some point and it’s Geno’s grip alone that’s keeping his hips in the air, but other than that, he’s just a mess of need and want.

“Sid. _Sid_ ,” Geno says, sounding as though he’s been trying to get Sid’s attention for a while, and Sid grunts, wordlessly asking what he wants. “Roll over.”

Sid doesn’t know how he’s meant to do that with Geno plastered against his back, but Geno nudges at him anyway.

“Want to watch your face,” Geno tells him, drawing back enough that he slips out of Sid.

Sid makes an unhappy noise at the emptiness, but he rolls sideways, letting Geno guide him with his hands until he’s able to scoot onto his back and get his legs either side of Geno.

“Look so good,” Geno tells him, hands rubbing along Sid’s body, and Sid gets a leg over Geno’s shoulder to bend and open himself up.

Geno doesn’t waste time before guiding himself back inside, the feeling a lot more intimate with Geno staring down at him. He hooks a hand behind Geno’s head and draws him down for a kiss, desperate for it, despite the awkward position.

Geno moves then, and Sid flops back into the pillows, arms splayed wide as Geno fucks him in earnest, the noises between their bodies slick and vulgar and perfect. Sid wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s happier on his back anyway, because it means he can reach down and touch himself, tugging in time to Geno’s thrusts, making his cock twitch when Geno grazes his prostate.

“Geno, Geno, Geno,” he repeats, watching the way Geno’s face contorts in concentration as he makes sure Sid gets what he needs.

But Sid needs Geno to take what he wants.

“C’mon, Geno,” he pleads, curling his other leg around Geno’s waist to tug him closer and Geno hangs his head, arms visibly trembling as he hovers over Sid.

“ _Sid_ ,” Geno murmurs, and Sid knows exactly what it means.

It means Sid can drop his head back and gasp, shutting his eyes as he comes, stroking himself through it until he has nothing left to give. He knows he’s clenching around Geno, but he knows—because Geno had told him a while ago—Geno loves it, that it makes him feel accomplished, and Geno slams into him, regardless of how sore Sid is getting, taking everything before he shudders, his gaze heavy and focused on Sid’s face.

It’s a tender moment and Sid drops his leg from Geno’s shoulder and pulls him in for another kiss, this one easier and less like a lesson in flexibility. Geno returns it gently, his lips slow and clumsy, but all the same it takes Sid’s breath away and leaves him clutching at Geno because that’s all he can do.

“Stay, Sid,” Geno says, and Sid can’t deny him that.

He’ll stay until the early hours of the morning, when the sky outside starts turning to softer shades of gray, when light starts curling around the edge of the curtains and warning them that their time is running out. He’ll stay tucked against Geno’s chest, ignoring his soft snores and hoping Geno’s alarm won’t go off for a while longer yet.

And he’ll remember how whole he feels knowing at the end of the summer, Geno will return to him.

* * *

They’re in bed—Sid’s bed, back in Pittsburgh—and Sid is reading quietly while Geno can’t help but watch.

“What?” Sid grunts and Geno blinks, reverie broken.

Sid doesn’t look up from his book so he probably can’t see him shaking his head. Geno doesn’t answer, because he has nothing to say. Sid turns the page and his eyes continue tracking the words as he reads silently.

After a beat, his gaze pauses before he sighs and darts his glance sideways to Geno.

“ _What_?” he asks again, sounding insistent as he sets his book in his lap, and Geno continues shaking his head.

“Nothing,” he finally replies and Sid turns to look at him fully.

“If it was nothing, you wouldn’t still be staring,” Sid reasons and Geno shrugs.

“Is nothing, go back to romance book.”

“It’s about Anne Boleyn,” Sid retorts, Geno knowing he’s used to the teasing about the endless stacks of books he keeps scattered around the house.

“What I say?” Geno asks innocently and Sid shakes his head as though refusing to get into that argument.

“Stop staring,” Sid tells him and Geno reaches across to settle his hand on Sid’s thigh, the sheets blocking him from feeling the warmth of skin-on-skin.

“I’m just watch,” Geno says. “Is not crime.”

“No, it’s not, but it’s fucking annoying,” Sid snaps lightly and Geno pats his leg.

“You should not look so good then.”

Sid levels him with a disbelieving glare.

“Is this you trying to have sex?”

“Always want sex,” Geno informs him, “but we fuck this morning.”

He knows Sid still feels it, because he’d grunted his way into bed forty minutes ago and Geno had laughed and Sid had told him to fuck off.

“Well, whatever it is, I’m trying to read.”

“Kiss me,” Geno tells him and Sid blinks, still looking unamused.

“What?”

“Kiss me and I roll over and sleep. Let you read.”

“That’s extortion,” Sid tells him and Geno nods.

“Yes, is good plan.”

Sid stares a moment longer before sighing as though it’s the last thing he wants to do before he leans over, lips puckered. Geno makes him wait just long enough to make him glare before he meets Sid in the middle and presses their mouths together. It’s a quick kiss that leaves Geno wanting more—mostly because he doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of Sid’s mouth.

“Go to sleep,” Sid tells him as soon as they pull away and Geno frowns.

“Not good kiss,” he complains and Sid doubles down on his glaring.

“That wasn’t part of the negotiation. You said one kiss and then you’d leave me alone.”

“Never said one,” Geno points out. “Kiss like you mean it.”

Geno knows now that Sid means every one of his kisses, even back to the beginning in the hidden alcove of the Bridgestone Arena. But Geno likes riling Sid, and Sid must like it in return because he still shares a bed with Geno every night. Sid gives back as good as it gets, anyway. Geno isn’t the only bully.

“One kiss as though I mean it, and you have to leave me alone,” Sid clarifies and Geno bobs his head in a vague way as though he agrees, or maybe not.

Sid stares, aggravated, but then he’s moving forward into Geno’s space and kissing him.

To be fair, it’s a better kiss, a _much_ better kiss. It’s the kind of kiss Sid gives Geno when he’s trying to butter him up, when he’s feeling horny and wants to get fucked. It’s a dirty kiss from a dirty cheat, and Geno can practically feel his grin. He’s downright gloating as Geno is powerless against it.

When he pulls back, Geno blinks, slightly dazed, gaze focused on Sid’s now-wet mouth.

“Mmm,” he hums nonsensically, feeling soft.

“A kiss like I meant it,” Sid points out and Geno hums again.

Sid’s grumpiness melts away as he laughs then, shoving Geno’s shoulder lightly.

Before he knows it, Sid is pressing in once more, giving one last kiss, something chaste again, but one that says exactly how he feels about Geno. About how he’ll always allow Geno to steal kisses from him, how he’ll always be a sucker for Geno’s affection, despite the extortion.

Geno has enough sense to kiss him back just once before Sid pulls away, smiling softly.

“Okay?” he asks. “Can I go back to reading?”

Geno nods, because that’s only fair.

“Yes,” he says. “I go jack off now.”

He goes to slide out of bed, not because he’s actually going to jack off, but because he needs to pee one last time before bed, but Sid reaches over and thwacks him all the same.

“Well, don’t make too much noise,” he bargains as he scoops his book up and Geno throws a wink over his shoulder at him.

* * *

“You're going to be late,” Sid points out from the kitchen table, mug of coffee halfway to his mouth.

“No,” Geno says, “never late.”

Sid stares at him.

“Geno, I don't think I've ever seen you be on time.”

“Always on time for training,” Geno argues, which isn't necessarily true.

He's seen Geno gear up for practice in less than ten minutes before out of sheer necessity, and it had been quite the sight.

“Sure, G,” Sid says sarcastically and Geno grumbles under his breath, heading out of the kitchen with a piece of toast in one hand, probably to go get dressed. Sid would bet he hasn’t even showered yet.

Sure enough, he hears the water glug to life a few minutes later and he sighs to himself. He’s dressed, his bag is packed, and he has a Gatorade sitting on the side, ready to grab as he goes. For the time being, he goes back to his breakfast, which consists of a bagel with too much cream cheese and a wedge of watermelon.

As he’s throwing the melon rind in the trash and brushing crumbs from his shirt, he hears the shower turn off upstairs and the unmistakable thudding of Geno staggering around getting dressed. They officially have three minutes to leave the house to avoid being late and Sid has the sneaking suspicion they’re not going to make it. He sits back down at the table, playing with his car keys while he waits.

Ten minutes after they should have already left, Geno stumbles down the stairs, saying something loudly in Russian that might just be a string of curses.

“On time,” he says in English as he rounds the corner and meets Sid’s gaze, and Sid sighs heavily. “I’m ready.”

Sid stands, moving to grab his bag and drink as Geno loops around the kitchen as though looking for something.

“What?” Sid asks, attempting to shoo Geno out.

“Keys,” Geno says and Sid points to the other Gatorade bottle he set out, specifically for Geno, beside which is the key to Geno’s car.

“Best,” Geno says, leaning over to kiss Sid’s temple and Sid swats him.

“ _Go_ ,” he says impatiently.

“You not have to wait, you know,” Geno says. “Going in separate cars.”

It’s true. They still go to practice in their own cars, so Sid could have left much earlier, but they’ve started somewhat of another tradition now and Sid isn’t ready to break it.

On the threshold, heading into the garage, Sid pauses, letting Geno crowd closer. He smells like Sid’s soap and the peanut butter he had on his toast. Looking up, Sid can’t believe how far they’ve come now, but he wouldn’t change a thing; Geno has always meant a lot to him as part of the team, but now even more so, outside of work.

Leaning onto the balls of his feet, he presses a hand to Geno’s chest and waits for him to lean down. The kiss is gentle and familiar and consists of four or five quick kisses that he’s weak against.

“We win cup this year,” Geno tells him as he pulls back and Sid isn’t going to say anything to jinx them, but he smiles.

“See you at practice,” Sid says instead and Geno smiles and nods and gives Sid one last kiss.

“See you, Sid.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Spoilsport [ return to text ]  
> 2 Stay strong and be happy, my friend [ return to text ]  
> 3 Captain in bed [ return to text ]
> 
> * * *
> 
> I am also over on [Tumblr](http://blacktofade.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/eggsybacon) if you want to hang out and cry about hockey boys.


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